


Dark Nights

by wolfboiii



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Angst, Drinking, Hallucinations, M/M, Panic Attacks, Psychosis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-07 23:33:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15918489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfboiii/pseuds/wolfboiii
Summary: "... Doktor is not taking his medicine again."





	Dark Nights

Blurred colours. That’s what he’d reduced his world to. Just pointless shapes in the dim light. Another deep gulp of beer. What bottle was this? Third? Fourth? It didn’t matter. He’d drink himself to death if it meant forgetting.

He ran a hand slowly down his face. Glasses… Where were his glasses? He reached for his desk but found only more beer bottles. Fine. His eyes were useless anyway. The amount of alcohol in his system made sure of that. Someone-- something?-- murmured quietly inside his head. The harder he tried to hear what it was saying, the more his mind swam. When he stopped trying to hear, it got louder but frustratingly no clearer.

He leaned forward to support himself on his elbows, holding his face in his hands. A pitiful groan escaped his throat, and it seemed deafening in the solitude of the medbay. When he looked up again, there was a form by the door. How long had it been there? Large, tall, quiet… Was it Heavy? He hoped it wasn’t. That man cared far too much about him--

“Doktor.” 

Gott.

His footsteps thumped closer, but Medic wouldn’t acknowledge him, electing to down more beer instead. When the other man’s shadow had totally eclipsed him, he slammed the bottle down, grip on it tight and possessive. 

“Leave me alone…” he growled, staring at the center of his desk. No response. No movement. It was a silent challenge. Medic finally lifted his head to meet Heavy’s eyes. The Russian had his arms crossed across his broad chest and his expression held stern, but those intense Siberian blues betrayed his concern.

“Doktor will make himself sick,” his voice was a soft rumble. In any other circumstance, Medic would have found it comforting. Now it just pissed him off.

“Do not speak to me like I am a child!” the doctor snapped, suddenly pushing himself up to his full height. But he staggered, forced to grab the edges of his desk for support. Heavy reached a hand out to help him, and Medic angrily slapped it away. The Russian withdrew, though hesitant. 

Another voice. This time whispered right against the shell of his ear. A cold breath. A shadow looming. He looked over his shoulder. Nothing? No one. The small action did not go unnoticed.

“... Doktor is not taking his medicine again,” Heavy frowned, eyes wandering the cluttered desk looking for the bottle of pills. The ones that helped Medic cling to the shred of sanity he still had. But bottles of beer were all he saw. Medic sneered at him.

“I am an adult. It is not your place to berate me,” a sudden wave of dizzying nausea forced him to bow his head and close his eyes. Everything spun, and he had to manually force himself to continue breathing. This time when Heavy moved to help, Medic didn’t have the coordination to stop him.

“Medicine helps,” he guided the man back into his chair, and Medic glared up at him. Even in this state, he managed to look menacing.

“You don’t know… anyzhing…” his snarl was broken in half by his sudden struggle to keep everything in his stomach. He hunched forward to cradle his aching head once again. Silence fell over the medbay. Heavy didn’t leave, even as the minutes ticked by. He stood patiently by his side. 

5 minutes.

10 minutes.

20.

30.

Anger gradually faded into sorrow. Sorry for himself, sorry for his actions, sorry for everyone that had to deal with his… condition. Something wet fell into his hands. He so wished it was someone else’s blood, but he knew it was his own tears.

Though he tried to hold it in, a choked sob shook his body. He covered his mouth with the side of his hand, muffling his sniveling only slightly. Heavy watched the German carefully, smart enough to keep his distance. He hadn’t seen Medic like this for a long time. Drinking so much he made himself ill, reacting to voices only he heard, responding so violently to touch… It hurt to see the strong, high-spirited man so… broken. 

As Medic continued to sputter and gasp, Heavy began to collect the bottles that littered the desk. The giant was afraid the clinking would alert Medic again, but he didn’t even seem to notice. He was far gone at this point. Cabinets were subsequently searched for the pills that the doctor badly needed. 

“Misha…” 

Heavy glanced over, slowly closing the cabinets. Medic hadn’t moved, but his tears had begun to slow. His entire body ached and rebelled against him. Intoxication of this level was powerful enough to have already downed a normal person, but the doctor was far from that. Though it didn’t seem his consciousness would stay with him much longer. The fierce energy he had before was gone. He was weak. His body, his mind, his spirit… everything about him.

“... Yes, Doktor?” Heavy gently urged when it seemed Medic wouldn’t continue. He approached slowly, steadying himself with a hand flat on the desk as he hesitantly laid a hand on Medic’s back. The doctor reacted violently, back popping as he instantaneously straightened up. But his glassy bloodshot eyes didn’t hold any anger or sadness anymore. It was a startling transition.

The man was afraid.

“Nein, don’t… I can’t… bitte,” he murmured, his voice so slurred and words so disjointed that Heavy had trouble understanding. But he had jerked back as soon as Medic had jumped, knowing enough to not touch the doctor anymore. For the brief moment his hand had rested on his back, he had felt the way his heart raced hard inside him, felt how his shirt was damp with sweat. 

“Am sorry,” he apologized, wanting desperately to hold the doctor, pet his hair, rub his back… do anything to comfort him. 

“Gott, nein, I’m… I’m sorry,” Medic leaned back in his chair, averting his gaze and wrapping his arms around himself. Was he cold? He was trembling. Most likely with fear. “It… it’s just… I’m…”

“Heavy knows.”

“It isn’t your fault.”

“Heavy knows,” he repeated, eyes soft and frown one of concern. “Is not Doktor’s fault either. Is okay.” Eyes met again. The doctor looked so tired, so haggard. He looked ten years older. Or maybe just his age. The doctor had never looked 55 before, but he did now. It broke Heavy’s heart.

He extended a hand, like promising a stray dog that he had no ill intent. It took Medic a few moments, but he slowly reached out and took it. He closed his eyes, breathing deep as he squeezed. Tight. The Russian didn’t mind. If it was what Medic needed, he would let him break his hand. He didn’t curl his fingers to hold him back, simply letting Medic cling to him. 

“I don’t feel vell…” the doctor whispered after several minutes. Heavy took a chance and soothingly ran his thumb across Medic’s knuckles. There was no real reaction, of any kind. The doctor was worn out, only opening his eyes a sliver.

“Can Doktor make it to bed?” Heavy knew what Medic really needed was to take his medicine as soon as he could, but with all the alcohol in him, it wasn’t the best idea. So he was determined to at least get the doctor to sleep. Under his close supervision of course.

Medic chuckled humorlessly, retracting his hand to rub his eyes. “Liebe… I can barely breazhe. And if I try to stand, I’m likely to lose everyzhing in mein stomach.” Heavy gave a small, sad smile. At the very least, the German had calmed down enough to return to some semblance of himself. 

“Might not be bad idea,” the statement was only half a joke. “Doktor is very… what is word? Drunk? Might feel better.” Medic waved his hand dismissively. 

“Nein, I’ll be alright,” he leaned forward and pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Just… give me ein moment to collect myself a bit more, bitte…” 

“Of course,” Heavy replied, ready to stay with him all night if he needed to. Another weak laugh from the doctor.

“You are far too kind to zhis batty old man,” he murmured, closing his eyes to keep the room from spinning. He went silent after that, and Heavy respected his need to recuperate. An hour ago, he was a spitting angry mess. It was remarkable how the man managed to compose himself to at least give the illusion of sobriety. Then again, it was Medic after all.

After a long, long while, the doctor sat up and took a deep, steadying breath. “Okay… alright, ve can go now.”

“Doktor is sure?” the Russian was hesitant, not wanting to rush the doctor and trigger another episode. But Medic nodded affirmatively.

“Ja... ja, I just vant to sleep.”

Heavy gave a nod of his own, leaning down and gingerly lacing one of the man’s arms around his shoulders, slowly and carefully. He straightened up, bringing him to his feet and taking care to handle him as tenderly as he could. The doctor winced, pressing his forehead into Heavy’s arm.

“Ugh…” Medic grunted, wrapping his free arm around his stomach with an ill hiccup. An I-Told-You-So look was in order, but Heavy wouldn’t let himself. It wouldn’t help to add insult to injury after what had already happened. Instead he held him closer with a Russian murmur of comfort as they left the medbay, helping him slowly back to the room they shared. It had originally been Heavy’s alone, but when the two of them became involved, Medic was happy to move in. The man rarely, if ever, used his own room. He basically lived in the medbay with his doves. But Heavy didn’t mind. 

Medic slid off of Heavy’s shoulder into the soft mattress, and the Russian lifted him enough to help him entirely into bed. There was a long moment of silence.

“... Heavy needs to stay in room while you sleep.”

“I know.”

“Will sit in chair. Won’t get into bed until Doktor is better.” 

“Danke.”

“Want to keep lights on?”

“Ja.”

Heavy nodded. He quietly took his place in the chair across the room, grabbing a book to occupy himself. It was unlikely that he would end up in bed that night, but that hardly mattered to him. 

Making sure Medic was safe and comfortable was forever his first priority, especially on his darkest days.


End file.
